Devious
by Queen Vaara
Summary: A girl is reaped to die in the Hunger Games. She lacks an ability to kill, and she knows she's at a major disadvantage. But she's cunning and intelligent, and she might actually leave the arena alive.


I wrap a dark cloth around my hair, so it's less noticeable. Fiery red hair is _really _inconvenient when you're a thief. I carefully tuck in the loose red strands, even though it's unnecessary.

As I exit the safety of the forest, I cast my eyes around. I'm tempted to remove the bag of beef jerky I stole a few days ago from my pocket and tear it open, but I know enough that it'll be wiser to ration it.

There's a woman who looks thirty five in a long fur coat bending over a selection of fruits a few yards away. She has an arm hooked around a white cloth bag. I've stolen from her many times, actually. She's wealthy, at least in district five, to the point that she doesn't care if she loses a few items. That's how I got a warm fur blanket.

The vendor smiles at her. "Good morning, Lilith," he greets, picking up a pear. Shopkeepers are always generous with the richer citizens.

Lilith nods, her eyes scanning the row of fruit. "I'll take some oranges," she decides, and the shopkeeper digs out the freshest ones, "and a few apples."

I step from the shadows I was concealed in, taking light, quick steps toward Lilith. She pushes her light hair out of her eyes as she places oranges inside her bag.

My worn brown jacket blends in with the rest of district five's population, enabling me to jostle through the already-crowded streets without any suspicious glances my way. Normally few district five citizens—usually only the ones with early work shifts—bother to rise this early in the morning. It's the reaping that forces them to wake early. The only reason I'm regularly up at this time is so I can steal food. The dry bread the orphanage gives us isn't enough to live on.

I halt, digging my boot heels into the ruined streets. The vendor's offering apple types to Lilith now, setting several apples in a line. She holds a deep red one in her hand. It's possible that I could snitch the oranges now, but I haven't stolen apples for a while. I decide to wait until Lilith has already packed the apples.

Most of the people hurrying past me are dressed in their best clothes for the reaping. I even glimpse a young girl of about nine wearing a crimson dress that almost makes her look like she was from district one. But of course that's not possible.

My name is in that glass bowl a few times, but I'd rather not think about it.

"I'll take the dark red ones. And that pale green one," Lilith says. I direct my gaze at her again. She has a few coins in her hand, which she then drops in the vendor's cupped hands. He curls his fingers, concealing the coppery coins, and yanks his wrist back.

By now, I'm so close to Lilith that the back of my hand is pressed lightly against her fur coat. As she watches him place the money in a wooden box, distracted, I lean forward slightly, my fingers closing lightly around multiple apples and oranges. Lilith senses this, and cranes her head around to check. I've already concealed the fruit in my jacket, though. The dark cloth shielding my red hair slips off and I almost trample it, but I bend and rumple it in my hand. I realize that Lilith has her pale blue eyes on me. _Stupid red hai_r. I fake a cough, my expression shifting to innocent, and then vanish inside the wave of people.

Lilith examines the contents of her bag, but she doesn't look angry. The vendor has locked the wooden box and clenches the key in his hand. "Lilith?" he asks, his tone falsely concerned.

She blinks, then smiles at him. "I have to leave now," she says. "You know, the Reaping? I've a twelve year old." She glances down at the interior of her white bag and hurriedly merges into the street.

I rush to the forest, the precious fruit hidden under my jacket. Here it's still, unlike the dusty streets. I hesitate to check for life anyways.

"Finch?"

I inhale sharply and whirl. A girl with raven-black hair leans against a tree. It's takes a moment to register in my mind that this is Nerezza, my only true friend at the orphanage. Only then do I relax.

"Why are you here?" I say, trying not to make my words sound spiteful and sharp. But of course it doesn't work.

Nerezza doesn't look fazed at all, though. Instead of the expected reaction, she grins. "So you've been stealing again, Finch."

I can't think of a clever enough reply, so I remain silent.

"What's it this time?" Nerezza asks.

"Apples and oranges," I say, quietly. "And tell me, why are you here?" I carefully manage my tone this time.

Nerezza straightens. "Simple," she says. "I had an early shift."

"And you followed me here?" I ask, eyeing her.

"When it was over, so yes."

Hesitantly, I take out an apple. I don't like to share the food I stole with others, but I offer it to Nerezza. "Apple?"

Nerezza stares at the fruit, and then takes out a small silver coin. "Take it?"

Instinct tells me to grab the coin and flee, but I dig my boot tip into the earth instead. "An apple doesn't cost _that_ much."

Nerezza smiles, motioning me over. "It's not for trading, Finch." She pries open my clenched hand and sets it in my palm, gently. Faint rays of sun reflect off it, and I bend to examine it, but Nerezza curls my fingers over it.

"I have to get ready for the reaping," she says, turning sharply on her heel.

"Wait, the apple," I call, my thumb running over the smooth skin of the fruit.

"Keep it," Nerezza replies. "You need it." She's right, I _do_ need the nutrition, so I watch her strut around a gray building and vanish.

I hold it up to the light. It's made of real silver, a rarity in the district. Instead, our currency is usually made of copper.

I clutch it inside my hand, thinking of hurling it into the dense trees. Having this in my possession will eventually attract attention, which is exactly what I don't need these days.

* * *

I take out my reaping dress. Its dark green fabric is rumpled from being crushed and tossed around for years. I would rather wear a regular jacket and pants, but it feels kind of mandatory for all girls to don a skirt or a dress.

When I change into the dress, it falls to my knees. Because I don't own a comb, I rake my fingers through my matted red hair until it is moderately untangled.


End file.
